


Withering Flowers

by Delia_Turquoise



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bunkers, Inspired by The Hunger Games, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delia_Turquoise/pseuds/Delia_Turquoise
Summary: She's been stuck in that piece of metal all by herself. Oh, there were others alright. They died though. Their bodies are strewn throughout the bunker, rotting. Yet, when Posy is about to die from dehydration and join her friends, a pair of wandering survivors rescue her, and nurse her back to health the best they can. What Posy discovers in the surface is nothing but destruction; collapsed cities, burning forests, evaporated lakes. Will delicate Posy Norah, who has been so cared for since now, be able to survive?
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1





	Withering Flowers

The dry hand of dehydration and hunger gripped my throat. 

I layed there on the cold steel floor, waiting for death to come and claim me. I’ll have to admit, it was sort of boring if you dismissed the pain. 

The steel was worn down after four years of my pacing and footsteps. 

Barren and cold, that’s how it felt with my legs against my chest and my head dropping sideways. 

The kitchen on the other side of the room was abandoned and neglected, with cobwebs starting to sprout in the corners. 

Well, what could you expect of me? Try and find some rotting grain the rats hadn’t gotten to yet? Ridiculous.

As I lay there, I looked around; there were so many rotting skeletons around me. 

Some were picked clean by the insects and creatures down here, leaving only the bones behind.

Others were in completely varying states of decay.

There were about 13 bodies in the bunker, all of them friends. 

Some of them I had known before the apocalypse, and some I had gotten to know during it.

All of them had been sweet, kind, and patient. 

They had chosen for me to be the one who survived in this D-list bunker, but only to have me die in the same way they had. 

I gave a bitter laugh. 

Once, I had looked beautiful. Flowing dark hair, glistening blue eyes, skinny form, and a pretty face. 

Now, that face was sunken, the hair was tangled, that form was even skinnier, and those eyes were full of malice. 

Even my voice was parched and crackling.

The electricity had been lost about a week ago. 

The food had disappeared about two days before the electricity, and the water went away three days after the hum of the heater. 

I assume it’s the middle of winter, since it’s been so cold after it shut down. It’s a miracle I haven’t frozen to death yet. 

Maybe that was for the better, because I have been hearing distant banging in the distance. 

Perhaps, in the end, somebody will come to care for me. 

Maybe it’s my brother. 

At the thought of my brother, who had genuinely believed in me unlike most others, I burst into tears. 

I had left him alone. I was a no-good, shallow, and picky vulture. 

He had to support us after dad died, mom left, after we were left all alone. He was just a teenager back then.

I guess I now know how he felt.

Quietly, I made a promise to myself to never be selfish ever again, if I got out of this situation alive.

As I quieted down, I began registering the pain. Not just the physical, but emotional pain.

It hurt. Stung. Killed.

The grip of hunger tightened it’s hold on me; I fell over, sobbing, curled up in the fetal position.

Death grabbed at the edge of my vision.

The light of what I could see was getting dimmer, and my body was getting colder.

Oddly enough, the pain left me. I suppose that with me dying, I couldn’t stand the pain anymore. At least that was gone.

But there was still the matter of me dying.

I suppose this was my punishment for contemplating my navel.

By now, I was swimming in and out of consciousness. Trying to fight against it was tedious; death would win in the end and we both knew it.

I heard the banging sound again. Earlier during the week, I thought I was hallucinating. Being underground for a long, as in a very long time, can do that to you.

So I simply ignored it.

Now, I desperately held onto the hope that maybe someone was here for me. To save me.

But the thought of mountain bandits crossed my fading mind. The trapdoor burst open at that moment; two people in matching golden jackets climbed down. 

“Julien, look! There’s somebody still alive!” “She doesn’t look good…” Two voices; a male and female. Too late. I’m gone. 

The voices disappear, the bunker along with them. Everything’s gone. Replaced with absolute darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I promise this is the only chapter that will ever be so short-


End file.
